


as if from a distance

by fakeclover



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Clumsiness, M/M, Meet-Cute, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-09-16 09:44:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16951680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fakeclover/pseuds/fakeclover
Summary: A day like this isn't particularly bad or uncommon for Jongin. He doesn't even consider fighting the vending machine, not with his luck. (And he doesn't need to.)





	as if from a distance

**Author's Note:**

> extended content notes:  
> \- food  
> \- very minor, non-graphic injury

Jongin's train was late. He was cold, had fruitlessly turned his backpack upside down for a missing scarf, turned it inside out too when it toppled over because he got distracted by a giant fluffy dog passing by. Half of the contents had spilled out on the floor and refused to fit back inside.  
  
Now his coat pockets were stuffed with socks and underwear and he'd lost track of his train ticket. He'd miss the last bus, would have to walk the four kilometres home in the dark, phone dead and charger forgotten at Junmyeon's place, his sister's phone number a blurry, undecipherable jumble in his memory.  
  
It wasn't particularly bad or uncommon for him, he thought. He'd get to stretch his legs, stars bright above, and he liked the air at night even if it cut into his cheeks at this time of the year. The indicator board still displayed nothing more than an unhelpful 'train will be delayed'.  
Jongin could have dropped by the station bookshop otherwise, to buy one of those colourful kids' magazines his niblings liked, busy himself with the puzzles, doodle in a bunch of creatures for them to find later.  
  
He leaned against the next best something, weary and trying not to visibly pout. It generated attention he couldn't deflect, didn't want. The cold surface humming to life under his temple startled him, the telltale clatter of a snack made him realise he was leaning against a vending machine. He shoved his hands into both coat pockets, fishing for coins that luckily all piled up in a bottom corner.  
Jongin purposefully disregarded the sock that had fallen out; maybe he'd just leave it there, considering it was the second time it had escaped, obviously unhappy in Jongin's care.  
  
The thrill of anticipation only lasted until he'd inserted the last coin, punched the number in, watched the metal spiral turn—and the chocolate bar getting stuck halfway.  
Jongin counted out the leftover coins. There was enough to try again, but he didn't want to, on principle. Turning his head on a whim, he saw the indicator announcing a fifty minute delay.  
  
Jongin gave up. He let himself collapse into a crouch, ungraceful, entirely forgetting about the weight on his back that knocked him over, knocked his forehead against the glass with force. Jongin was too tired to cry, for once even too tired to care if anyone saw.  
  
"Do you need help?" someone asked, not unkind, concerned. Pretty, simple black boots, small.  
  
"No," he said, on principle, too. Touched fingertips to his forehead and glared at them when they came away clean. It hurt enough for there to be blood, the lack of it felt like another insult piled onto this insult of a day. "Thank you, no."  
  
He disregarded the hand extended to him. It was small like the boots, red, from the cold, maybe. An insult nonetheless. He was just tired, not helpless. Jongin picked himself up, righted his backpack, patted and smoothed down his clothes. Touched his traitorous forehead again.  
  
"Is this yours?"  
  
Jongin wanted to snap at the man in irritation, wallow in his annoyance in peace. Miss the train entirely, sleep sitting upright on one of the benches, freezing until he shook from the cold, stomp back to Junmyeon in the morning and hog his couch until Kyungsoo told him to snap out of it and kicked him out, a lunch and a reference sheet of healthy coping mechanism carefully sneaked into his backpack.  
Too bad he had manners, and too much consideration for his own good.  
  
"I'm sorry," Jongin said, "what?"  
  
"The snack that's stuck," came the reply, almost cheerful, as if Jongin's urge to self-destruct wasn't palpably radiating from him. "Is it yours?"  
  
Jongin grumbled in response. That was the closest he would ever come to telling someone to get lost.  
  
He did not expect the man to kneel down, wedge a hand under the corner of the machine and smile at him as he lifted it off the ground and tilted it gently, rattle it delicately until the chocolate bar was freed. Vending machine back in its place as if it hadn't just almost floated in the air, the man reached into the retrieval and pulled the snack out.  
  
Jongin felt heat rush to his face. He wanted to run away, felt too ungrateful to deserve the man's efforts, but dismissing them would make it worse.  
  
The man looked up at him, chocolate bar still in his hand. It would melt, like his unsolicited kindness was melting Jongin's irritation.  
Jongin stumbled forward before he could try to decipher his expression, pushed the remaining coins into the slot so violently the barrier didn't budge at first. He pointed a hand at the amount he'd inserted when he was done, for the man to see. It was enough to get whatever he wanted.  
  
"The apple pie looks good," the man said. Smiled, again, reserved, appropriate for a stranger but still disconcerting, melting.  
  
Jongin caught him nodding in the reflection when he turned around to figure the number out and type it in, and he averted his eyes. He felt unsettled, like something came lose inside of him, insignificant but heavy.  
His stomach almost turned when the spiral stopped turning, the pie stuck at the front, not even on the brink of dangling. Jongin froze in place, in denial. This wasn't happening; he was still on Junmyeon's couch, or had stolen into his and Kyungsoo's bed, was paying for it with this nightmare.  
  
"Don't move," a voice came and he didn't, couldn't. Watched the machine lift off the ground again. Didn't think about how high it was lifted, watched the pie tumbling. Who even liked apple pie sold in vending machines. Pretty boots, pretty, red hands, a smile and a chocolate bar—  
He bent down to get the pie from behind the flap when the machine was back on the floor, where it belonged, felt some kind of balance restored when they traded snacks.  
  
"It could happen to anyone," the man assured as he pulled the wrapper apart at the seams, careful, skillful, and manoeuvred the pie out of it enough to take a bite.  
  
"Twice in a row," Jongin said, doubted.  
  
"Of course," he answered. "It happened to you, didn't it?" A pause, something... something in his eyes.  
  
Pretty. Pretty, Jongin thought. "You didn't have to help me," he said instead. "I didn't want you to."  
  
"No," the man relented. "But I wanted to."  
  
Jongin clumsily ripped the wrapper, peeled it back, took a bite of the chocolate bar. It was bland but a comfortable, familiar taste, chocolate melted where the man had held it. Nothing was okay anymore.  
  
"Is that your sock?" the man asked, pointing to the one Jongin had abandoned, then to the one that matched it, well on its way out of his coat pocket.  
  
"Is that your train," Jongin asked, desperate to not talk about unfaithful socks he wanted to lose. Forty more minutes.  
  
The man looked at him, like people told Jongin he looked at dogs, the unusually fluffy ones. And men, sometimes. Assessing adoration, about to ask if he could pet; or touch, or kiss.  
Jongin wondered if he looked back at the man like that, right now.  
  
"Maybe," the man said. "If it's yours, too."

**Author's Note:**

> xiukai are my absolute favourites, i hope you enjoyed this!!  
> ty for reading 🧦  
> please let me know if it made you feel anything
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/fakeclover) | [cc](http://curiouscat.me/fakeclover)


End file.
